I’m northbound, and this refuge beckons, streaming colored light through little windows. It’s a six-person House of God surrounded by rain-drenched cornfields.
Do I really have time to stop? And I ask this, too: Can I really afford not to stop?
I take a detour from my 60-mile-per-hour life, and pull onto the roadside driveway. Because every heart on pilgrimage needs rest stops on the journey home.
I park alongside a wee chapel with a creaky wooden door. I’m still miles from home, and I have an appointment on the calendar, but I stop anyhow, because I want to get a better glimpse of my destination.
And I’m thinking that the best way to really get ahead in life is to stop moving altogether.
I turn off the ignition, and move toward stillness. I turn the knob and peek inside. I’m looking for instructions here on the best way home. Does anyone know the best way home?
I’ve been in this place before, where the Bible is always spread open and the light is always on.
I stopped last fall, as a weary traveler in need of a respite from my interstate-speed life.
Funny, how life repeats itself. Is this a rerun of a past episode? Did someone just hit rewind on my life? And can I please, please hit the pause button right here, and stay rooted in these spirit-calming verses spread open on the altar?
I bow low, bent, dropping my forehead onto His Word to pray.
Life is busy, I tell Him, but rest has come easier this past year. And I thank God for that.
When life moves fast again, Lord — and I know it will — will You keep on grabbing the reins, tugging me back closer to You?
I’m in a different place than I was a year ago … at least I think so. I hope?
Am I different, God? I ask Him. Have I grown?
Eleven months have passed since I last stopped here. In the guest book, I find my signature, 28 pages back, and a lot of life has spun on this axis in the last 337 days.
The guy who signed in after me last October reminds the weary traveler: “There might not be a tomorrow.”
What if I really am closer to Home than I think?
I don’t know how far I’ve got to go, but I’ve moved forward and — I pray — closer to Him, with a more restful spirit.
I have grown, and I have found stillness, but there’s something more I need, and I come here thirsty for it: more and more … and more of Him.
“Make Yourself my all-consuming passion,” I whisper.
And if there’s any prayer that a person can pray, why would He not answer this one?
I flip the pages on the altar Bible, search the Scriptures, and these words are the ones I find:
“And ye shall seek me and find me when ye shall search for me with all your heart.” — Jeremiah 29:13
Before I go, I grab the pen, etching my place here on this rest stop. I leave the light on for the next weary sojourner, and I leave to head home.
And I’ve found my way home.
And He really is my Way home.